The Lives of Flies
by o0aurora0o
Summary: It started as just... a thing. No strings attached. Just sex. But, of course, it turns into much more than that. Ros is a hard-headed woman who instantly attracts Clint. Clint is an Avenger who happens to be her perfect type. Only, she has no idea that he saves the world as a job. [slow-burn, as in it's a fuck-buddies to lovers story]
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter One | Night Stand_

* * *

Natasha always told him that he was good at reading people when it came to vibes. Natasha was always spot-on about a person when it came to their voice and body language when confronted, but Clint always sensed it beforehand. With Thor, he knew right away that he was a frightened man who didn't know what was going on. He knew Natasha was just a brainwashed kid who didn't know right from wrong, the same with Barnes.

And now, sat in Josie's bar with a hood pulled over his head and a cold beer set between his elbows on the bar, it was the same situation.

A woman in her mid-20s, a gorgeous woman with crazy curly hair that was thrown up in a half-up bun, dark eyes that sparkled and light dimples that only appeared if she smiled wide enough, caught his eye.

Half-bent over the pool table, she had her tongue between her teeth with one eye squinted as she looked down the length of the cue. A wad of cash was seated by her elbow on the edge of the table with two men leaning against the wall to her side, whispering as they stared at the woman. She was clad in light blue jeans and a long-sleeved black top, her winter coat hanging on the coatrack along with her scarf.

It was obvious the men were checking her out.

And it was obvious she was playing them.

She was losing with 4 yellow balls vs 1 of the guys' reds – the guy with the baseball cap was playing against her, his friend creepily leering over them.

But Clint wasn't just an archer, he knew how to use his eye to his advantage. Want a rock thrown at a bottle a hundred feet away? He has it nailed. Ask him to throw 3 darts dead-centre and he could do it.

Which was why he could tell that the woman was offing her aim ever so slightly. She would aim perfectly; Clint could imagine her hitting the white ball perfectly to shoot the yellow into the corner socket, but she would readjust the cue before she shot so it was off. The more confident baseball cap would get, the more money he would slap on the table and the more, uh… favours, to put it mildly, he thought he was going to get in the back alley.

When baseball cap got to the black ball, the woman stepped up her game and strided around the table. When she got the first yellow in, the man grinned and sarcastically clapped, raising his eyebrows to his friend with amusement gleaming in his expression. By the second successful shot, baseball cap looked impressed and winked at her when she brushed past him, playing dirty.

When she got the third one in, his smile dimmed a bit but he asked if he was ever gonna get a turn in good jest, still under the impression that he would win.

By the fourth, his expression dropped completely.

When she bounced the black ball off the side to hit it in the middle pocket, he seemed to realise that he'd just been hustled.

The woman quirked her lip up at baseball cap, friendly as ever despite the obvious fact that she just owned his ass, inside and out. "No blowjob for you, mister," she whispered teasingly, leaning back to grab the cash – at least two hundred bucks – from the table edge. "But thanks for the cash. Come again sometime."

She turned and moved for the exit, clearly wanting to leave before baseball cap could stir shit up, but before she even moved a step, he grabbed her arm and slammed her against the edge of the table.

Clint was already up and about to intervene, but apparently he didn't have to.

Baseball cap's expression was wide-eyed and tight-lipped, while the woman looked the same, only a little cocky. Her hand was hidden from view, trapped somewhere between baseball cap's legs…

She was grabbing his balls. Hard.

Clint almost felt bad for the guy.

"I'll rip them out of your nutsack if you don't leave this nice bar," she muttered.

"Filthy bitch," he hissed, wincing but unmoving. Stubborn bastard.

"You heard the lady," Clint decided to cut in then, stepping in closer with a hand resting loosely over the gun hidden under his shirt, in the front of his jeans. "Get out of here, man. It ain't worth it."

His eyes flickered over to Clint for only a moment before they darted back to the woman's, and there was nothing but fury blazing there, beneath his irises.

He still didn't make a move, but he didn't have to, because the woman abruptly let go of his nuts and shoved him back, hard, into his friend who was staring at the confrontation with wide eyes, supposedly unsure as what to do.

The friend grabbed baseball cap before he could lunge at the woman again and whispered something to him – along the lines of 'c'mon, man, don't wanna start shit here'.

"I'll fucking get my money back," baseball cap muttered, and then stormed out, knocking Clint's shoulder as he left. Clint noticed Josie – the owner – from behind the bar, watching them carefully. She caught the woman's eyes and nodded, and the woman returned the gesture.

They clearly knew each other, then.

"Thanks for that," the woman addressed Clint, pushing herself away from the pool table to face him. "A lotta folks here just ignore that shit."

"Seemed like you had it handled," Clint commented.

"Yeah, well," she started but didn't finish, shrugging a little. Her eyes cast down to the table where the final black ball was sat, awful close to the corner socket. "Want a game?"

"And get my ass handed to me?" Clint cocked an eyebrow, smirking a little. "Nah, I'll pass."

"Unfortunate, but I can't blame you, big guy." She patted him twice on the shoulder with a cocky smile, a friendly gesture, as she walked past him to take a seat at the bar, opposite where Clint was previously sat. There was only another guy sat at the bar in the corner, far away from everyone, and a few patrons were sat in the booths at the back, away from where it would usually be busy. Josie was tapping something into the cash register, but he noticed she kept glancing up at the door in case the two men walked back in.

The woman craned her neck to look back at Clint, and her lips parted into a breathless sigh. "You gonna sit down or what?" she asked, turning back. She nudged the stool on her right with the toe of her boot-clad foot. An invitation. Did she know who he was?

"You gonna grab me by the balls?" Clint asked, feigning hesitance, but stepped towards the empty stool regardless.

"Only if you start shit," she snorted. As Clint settled down comfortably close to her, but not too much so – he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable, nor did he want his junk to take the brunt of her anger – she tilted her head to first give him a one-over, her eyes drifting down his body like she could see something he couldn't, and then settled with gazing into his eyes. "What's your poison?"

"You don't gotta buy me anything, you know," Clint said.

"Yeah, well, deal with it." She shrugged, flashing a closed-lipped smile. "I'm not drunk so you're taking advantage. Plus, I just won $245 dollars, so gotta get spending."

"You're not spending shit, Ros," Josie spoke up, intervening on their conversation. She placed two drinks on the bar in front of them, a cold beer for Clint, and what looked like whiskey or bourbon for the woman- Ros, Josie called her. It was a nice name. Suited her. "It's on the house for getting those assholes out of here."

Clint grabbed the neck of his beer and set it closer to him, feeling the condensation cool his heated skin. He couldn't take off his coat, though, since he made the genius mistake of hiding a gun in plain sight.

"You know them?" Ros asked, taking her own drink, and taking a sip.

"Heard from Frank they like causing shit in the streets, try'na play tough to get in a gang or some other crap," Rosie explained in a grumble, leaning her elbows on the edge of the bar. "Doesn't matter, anyway. You two met before?" she asked, nodding between Ros and himself.

"Not officially, no," Ros answered, swivelling her stool around so she could face him fully, close enough so her thighs framed one of his legs. Awfully close, but Clint wasn't complaining. She stuck her hand out. "I'm Rosa, an old friend of Josie's and an all-around asshole. Call me Ros."

"Clint," he introduced himself, taking her hand in his. Her hands were fairly small, but Clint could feel the callouses of her palm and fingertips. A hands-on working woman, then. "A new friend of Josie's who can sometimes be an asshole. Also not here to hit on you. Or hit you."

"Well, it's good to meet a decent face," Rosa said with a smile, tipping her drink in his direction before taking a generous gulp. She swivelled the drink in a mouth for a moment, her cheeks puffing out, before swallowing. She didn't know who he was, then. Or she could just be downplaying her reaction. "Don't gotta worry about me grabbing your balls if you act like this all the time."

Clint stifled a laugh and Josie shook her head. "Aren't you two just adorable?" she drawled teasingly. The man on the other side of the bar called Josie's name, and she sent a quick 'one-minute' Ros' and Clint's way before going to attend to her customer.

"So, I've never seen you around here before," Ros commented as soon as Josie left. "What's your deal?"

"My _deal?_" he echoed.

"Yeah," she confirmed for him, slowly, like talking to a kid. "That's what I said. I mean, people don't tend to brood in the corner of a bar while watching people play games of pool like they were expecting something to happen. And not a lot of guys are willing to pull out a gun when someone gets a little handsy."

Clint gaped for a moment. Well, fuck. "I didn't pull out a gun."

"Unless you were palming your dick, you were about to pull out a gun," she told him with the same suave tone, seemingly unbothered. "A lot of people carry, especially around this area, Clint. Not gonna berate you. Seems like you can handle yourself."

Clint raised his eyebrows, suppressing the look of mild confusion that was no doubt likely plastered on his face anyway. "What makes you say that?"

"Not sure," Ros replied, giving him a one-over again, but it wasn't brief this time. She wasn't checking him out, but observing him, her eyes lingering on the areas of his body where he could hide weapons, and technically was. Only a few blades, and the thin metal bracelet Tony made for him and the rest of the team in case he was in a situation. "Just a feeling. And Josie doesn't talk highly of anyone, so it's a good feeling."

"I've got fucking ears, you know," Josie called over her shoulder with a slight smirk.

"I know you do, baby," Ros responded with a wink. Josie shook her head and turned back around to talk to the other customer, an attractive man, around Josie's age, too.

"Not sure how I feel about Josie talking about me," Clint muttered, taking a sip of his beer.

"It's all good things, man. I wouldn't worry," she reassured him, leaning an elbow on the edge of the bar, still facing him, her body open and relaxed. "I know you've been coming here for a few weeks now, you're usually quiet. Don't come here to socialise but drink. Almost like this is the only place you can really relax. Stressful job? Horrible roommates? Bad marriage? Come here to cheat on the missus? Or are you a serial-killer sociopath who comes here to find his victims?"

"Anyone ever tell you it's creepy that is?" It's basically Clint's job to analyse people, but that didn't mean he liked it when others did it to him.

"I could go all day," she drawled, almost teasingly. "Did I at least hit the mark on anything?"

"Well, uh…" For a moment, Clint contemplated if he should even tell her anything. It could be dangerous to him and his family, to the team, but then he remembered that he no longer worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. He was an Avenger, a public figure. It was only a matter of time before she'd figure it out anyway. "Stressful job you got right," he began listing. "Roommates are, well, weird if I'm being generous, but I like them well enough. Divorced, so not here to cheat on the missus. Not a sociopath, either. Or a serial-killer."

"Sounds like you lead an interesting life," Ros commented and reached forward to get her drink. "Not a serial killer, weird roommates, stressful job, divorced." She took a sip and stared into Clint's eyes over the rim of the glass. "Makes me curious." Clint couldn't tell if it was suggestive, if she was flirting with him. She called Josie 'baby' so maybe she was just… _like that_. "Or maybe I'm punching a little above my weight," she added, noticing Clint's expression.

"God, it's the other way around, if anything," Clint said, shaking his head. Ros was young – Clint would guess mid to late 20s – but she was definitely younger than Clint. The more he talked- or the more he realised how attractive the woman was, the more he felt like a creepy old man. Well, he was 39 which wasn't horrifically old, but still. "Punching way above my weight."

"Oh," Ros raised her eyebrows dramatically, "so you _are_ hitting on me." Clint flushed bright red, almost spluttering like a damn fool. "Luckily for you, my type is divorced men who have stressful jobs and aren't serial killers."

"That's oddly specific," Clint said, the corner of his lip twitching upwards into a smirk, but not quite, "but I'll take it."

Ros hummed, her own lips stretching into a grin and her eyes sparkled with… something. "Anyone ever tell you you're cute."

"Surprisingly, it doesn't really come up in conversation," Clint answered.

"Okay," Ros nodded, her lips pulling down in an expression of mock thinking. Her knee brushed against his inner thigh, and Clint felt heat spike in his lower stomach. Clint silently berated his body for having such a teenage-boy reaction to a simple touch. "Anyone ever call you outright hot?" With the slow and lazy way she said it, along with her eyes locked firmly onto his, her lips parted in a smile, Clint's breath stuttered and he felt his heart jump in his chest.

"I, uh, I don't get that a lot, either," Clint stammered out.

Ros actually looked a bit shocked, her eyebrows raising a fraction. "Glad to be one the first." She reached over for her drink again and took a slow gulp, holding eye contact with Clint. Clint didn't know what to say; the last person who had come onto him like this was Laura, and that was over a decade ago. A morose expression must have taken over his expression, because Ros put down her drink and frowned. "If I'm reading this wrong…"

"No," Clint decided, shaking his head as his lips jerked up. "You're not reading this wrong."

* * *

Clint grunted as his back was slammed against the wall, fingers carding through his hair and scraping across his scalp. A soft pair of lips cover his and part instantly, leading Clint to follow suit so the woman can slip her tongue inside.

Clint's hands brush up her hips, find their way under her shirt so he can feel her skin, warm under his touch, unbearably soft against his calloused fingers, his rough palms. Clint was sure he would choke on air if her lips weren't moving insistently against his.

When her fingers tightened in his hair and he felt a pull at his scalp, he had to pull away so he could moan lowly, eyelids fluttering shut and breaths coming in heavy.

"You like that, big guy?" she asked sultrily, panting softly against his lips. Clint's eye fluttered open and she was staring back at him, eyes hooded. Pressing her lower lip between her teeth, she slowly tugged again, a little rougher, but Clint managed to swallow down his groan, flushing instead. Her lips brushed against his and he moved forward to claim them again, but she pushed him back – _surprisingly strong_ – so his upper back was pressed firmly against the wall.

"Goddamn tease," Clint muttered.

Ros grinned wickedly, letting her lower lip fall from her teeth, and she pressed a hand against his chest, the other rubbing almost soothingly through his hair. She dragged her palm flat against the thin material of his shirt, her outer pinkie lightly pressing against his nipple in a way that made Clint hold back pushing his hips against hers just to relieve _some goddamn tension_. Her palm flattened against his abs, just over his bellybutton, and she dug her fingers in firmly.

Clint's breathing hitched and Ros stared at him, eyes dark. He could see that her pupils were completely blown, mirroring him, most likely. "Like it rough, Clint?"

Heat spiked in his stomach. "Gonna do something about it?" He smirked teasingly.

She mimicked his expression and pressed her lips against his once again, pulling him by the hips until the backs of her knees hit her back. They fell down.

* * *

**Author's Note: Pls tell me what you think because idk how to feel about this already.**


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two | Ocean Man_

* * *

**_Ros_**

When she woke up the next morning, Clint was clinging to her side like a koala. A leg was slung over both of hers, his arm over her waist and hand gripping her skin. His nose was buried in her neck, his light breaths brushing over her skin. She didn't take him for a cuddler, but she didn't hate it. Surprisingly, she slept rather well.

Her radio played soft jazz in the background of the kitchen, something from the 50s that she liked but didn't care enough to memorise. Her apartment was fairly lavish, not the nicest building in Hell's Kitchen since Hell's Kitchen was, well, literal _hell_, but it was one of the better ones. She made a promise to herself that she would find the safest place to live when she moved here. Crime was pretty common, and it had gotten worse since Daredevil decided to make his rounds around the city.

It wasn't too long after Ros woke up that Clint made an appearance. He was… well, hot and unbelievably her type. And right now, very shirtless.

He wasn't ripped like the models on Calvin Klein ads, but to say he wasn't defined would be an understatement. His abs were hard, she remembered feeling them last night, and his arms were practically carved straight out of a wet dream. He had a few scars scattered across his body, mostly small but she knew what a bullet and stab wound looked like. He seemed like the militia type. Still, chicks dug scars.

His hair was mussed and his eyes were squinted like he literally just shucked on his pair of pants and walked straight out here.

Clint's lips stretched into a warm, kind of awkward, smile when he saw her sat at the kitchen island. Her legs were crossed on the stool and she was munching on an apple. Ros watched for a moment as Clint shifted uncertainly, unsure if he had to leave or if he could sit down, and her lips twitched.

"You know I didn't make two cups of coffee for myself, right?" she asked around a mouthful of fruit, sliding the white mug to the other side of the island. "Sit down, you dweeb." Clint shuffled over, still looking a little unsure, but he sat down anyway. "I think I have some milk left if you don't like it black, a little sugar, too."

"I usually drink this stuff straight outta the pot," Clint grumbled, his voice low and husky from sleep,

Ros cocked an eyebrow, placing her half-eaten apple on the island. "And you don't have diabetes?"

"Didn't realise you could get diabetes from not having sugar?" Clint retorted, murmuring the end of his comment into his mug as he took a large gulp, cupping the warm ceramic between his palms.

"Wow, you usually this sassy in the morning?" Ros asked.

"Better sassy than a dumbass," Clint mumbled, resting his chin in his arm as he slurped down his coffee. He looked exhausted.

"I'm guessing sassy when you're tired, then?"

"Sorry," Clint groaned, thumping his head on the island. "That was mean."

"I've heard worse, big guy," Ros said. "Remember filthy whore?"

Clint snorted as he lifted his head. "Wasn't inaccurate," he commented quietly, probably to himself.

Ros threw her apple across the table and it thunked off his forehead. He hardly reacted, just stared in stunned silence ahead of him like he wasn't sure what happened. The apple rolled off the counter and onto the floor. "Asshole," she added for effect, but she wasn't offended.

"Communication is key for a budding friendship, Ros," Clint said through a yawn. "That's what- my, um, my friend told me. Anyway. Weird roommate. One of them."

"A budding friendship? You usually pound your friends like that?" Ros muttered into her coffee, hiding her grin when Clint spluttered and looked up at her wide-eyed. "Or are they… _those_ kinds of friend?"

Clint gaped. "Who do you think I am?"

"Someone who insults a one-night stand after she made him coffee?" Ros tried teasingly. "You said weird roommates. And you have a stressful job. You some kind of escort? Gonna scam me into paying you?"

"You won $200 last night, so I'm tempted," Clint threw up, raising his eyebrows over his coffee mug. "I think I'd be a high-class escort." His expression dropped after a moment and he slumped, eyes drifting away. "God, I really just had a one-night stand, didn't I?"

"Been a while, stud?" she asked, rhetorically, but she was also curious.

"Uhhh, maybe about… 20 years," Clint groaned and knocked his head against the island again.

Ros didn't say anything – smiled a little at the dramatics – and cocked an eyebrow when he lifted his head back up after several long moments, eyes immediately locking onto hers.

"Gotta say you did a good job, big guy," Ros said, winking at him over her mug.

* * *

Rosa walked into work an hour later after dropping Clint off – she assumed it wasn't where he lived as he didn't even know what direction they were going – jacket tied around her waist and sweat dripping off her brow due to the unexpected heat wave that hit New York.

In the yard, she caught sight of her co-worker who had an arm buried in an engine of a truck, wincing.

"Is that Galloway's truck again?" Ros asked, coming up behind her friend, propping her chin on her shoulder to see what she was doing.

"Asshole doesn't know how to clean his fucking engine," Riri muttered, pulling her arm out as Ros stepped back. She grimaced at the grime covering her latex glove, chunks of something that Ros didn't wanna think about clenched in her fist. "Nasty."

"You're not gonna hose it down?" Ros asked.

Riri pulled off the glove and threw it in a nearby bucket. "Tried at first," she answered, "but there was build-up at the bottom. It's out now, so about to whip out the hose." She rested her ass against the car's open hood, crossing her arms over her chest, and examined Ros. "So. You get fucked up or… _fucked_ up?" she asked with a grin.

Ros smiled with a shake of the head. "Get back to work," she ordered with no bite. "Gossip is for after work, Ri." She turned away.

"Yeah, yeah." Riri rolled her eyes. "Logan said you've got mail waiting for you in your office. Well, grumbled it since he's in an asshole mood today."

"Thanks, Ri."

"Was he hot?"

"Back to work!" Ros yelled over her shoulder with a chuckle.

It was a rather large auto-repair shop they worked at, about the size of 3 basketball courts, but there were only a few working there. Herself, Riri, Logan who was always crouchy, Wade who pissed about everyone off, and Laura. Ros, Logan and Wade were the seniors, having worked there for years, Riri was 19 and only half a year in but she acted as though she'd been working there for as long as the 3. She always picked things up easy, didn't need much training to begin with. Laura was 15 and very new. At first, Ros didn't want to hire her in because she was still at school, but after the kid somehow convinced Logan it was a good idea, she took her on board.

Lunella often visited the shop, a good friend of Laura's despite their opposite personalities. She was a sweet kid, too smart for her own damn good sometimes, but a sweet kid nonetheless.

They were like a little family.

Rosa untied her jacket as she approached her office, located at the top of a tower-like building that overlooked the courtyard.

She froze when she entered. A man sitting in her chair, feet swung up on her cluttered desk and an easy smile on his face. Dark hair, dark eyebrows, equally dark eyes. Wearing a dark grey suit with an unbuttoned green waistcoat, the first buttons of his shirt undone.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" she hissed out, throwing her jacket on the coat rack. She stormed up to her desk and slammed her hand down on the wood. "We had a deal—"

"Hey, hey," he said with raised eyebrows, hands held up in surrender, "not here for a fight."

"I don't give a shit—"

"Rosa, baby—"

"Victor, I swear—"

"I just need you to listen to me—"

"And if you interrupt me one more fucking time, your head is going through that window," Ros said, her voice overlapping his. She let the silence linger for a moment, watched Victor as he closed his mouth. "We agreed. I never go into your work, and you never come into mine. You make threats in my _house_, Victor, not here."

Victor smiled, closed-lipped but still genuine, and swung his legs off her desk to stand up. Ros removed her hand from the desk, took two steps back. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"I'm not here to threaten you, Rosa," he reassured, moving around her desk to stand in front of her. Ros, the stubborn asshole, didn't move, so they were only a step away from each other. Too close. He leaned back against her desk, crossed his legs at the ankle with his hands gripping the edge of the wood. "I just came to tell you that I'll be gone for two weeks. Lovely holiday to Germany, actually. You'll be paying triple when I come back, of course. I don't want you interfering with my guys, after all."

"Couldn't have left a message?" Ros asked, lips pursed.

"I still don't have your number," Victor said.

"Don't bullshit me."

"As threatening as ever, I see." His tongue traced his lower lip as he examined her from head to toe. She itched to turn away and leave. Or to deck him. But she held herself. He sighed lightly when she didn't budge. "I'll be seeing you in a couple of weeks, Rosa." He reached up to caress her upper arm, eyes drifting up to zero in on her lips. She felt her heart stutter in her chest, her mouth go completely dry.

He lowered his arm and brushed past her after moments of just staring, and left without a word.

When the door shut, she exhaled and slumped over her desk, knees weak. God, how she fucking hated herself for reacting like this. Jesus. It was pathetic.

Ros managed to calm herself, one hand gripped tightly on the edge of the desk and the other clutched over the heart beating against her ribcage.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

Fuck Victor.

_Fuck Victor Von fucking Doom and his fucking asshole fucking mob._

Jesus Christ.

Deep breaths, Ros. You've been through worse shit than this.

"You can't keep letting this shit slide," a gruff voice spoke from behind her, presumably stood in the doorway where Victor just left. Ros sighed through her nose. "You know what he's gonna do to you. Ain't no 'if' about it."

"I've only got a few more payments, Logan," Ros told the man, not turning around. "A few more payments and I can move away from this shithole of a city."

"An' then what about us? What about Ri, Laura, or Lunella? Me an' Wade can keep 'em safe here, but we can't follow them home every night. Make sure his guys don't go after them when he decides he wants you back. Which he will."

"I'm saving up. In case there's an emergency. For all of you to live somewhere safe"

There was a pause. "You're not a fuckin' idiot, Ros. Don't act like one."

"Fuck off, Logan."

* * *

_**Clint**_

He could feel her stare on him when he got back to the Tower. She always did it whenever he did something he wasn't sure she would approve of.

That one time he got Stark to make super strong magnets to stick onto Barnes' arm – which he couldn't do anymore since Shuri replaced it with vibranium – when he told a group of Kree soldiers that he would stick his foot up each of their asses, only to end up with five broken ribs, a sprained wrist, a dislocated soldier and three bullet wounds to the abdomen, and then, of course, when he punched Loki in the face. Sure, he broke two fingers, but goddamn was it worth seeing the look on his face.

But this time, he was a little scared. Natasha was practically best friends with his ex-wife. He wasn't sure how she'd react if she found out he had a godforsaken _one-night-stand_, if she'd tell Laura, rip his dick right off his body… God, he couldn't let her find out.

"Who was she?"

Aw, dammit.

"What?" Clint spluttered.

"You keep looking at your phone," Natasha observed, casually stirring the sugar into her tea. "You seem a bit happier than usual. And you're blushing right now." She cocked a perfect red eyebrow at him. "So, I'll ask again. Who was she?"

"Uhhh… Her name's Rosa."

"And you slept with her?"

"Tash!" Clint hissed.

"Sam and Steve are out on their run, James is brooding in his room, Thor is out with Brunnhilde, everyone else is still sleeping," Natasha told him. "Tell me about her. What does she look like?"

"This is embarrassing," Clint murmured.

"C'mon, Clint. We used to talk about this crap all the time," Natasha pointed out. "You haven't gotten laid since Laura. I haven't gotten laid since Ronin. Talk to me."

"We're not in high school anymore, Tash."

"We never were," Natasha pointed out with a scoff. "Is she cute?"

"Why? You after her?"

"If you're not gonna call her, I just might," Natasha teased with a quirked lip. "If someone's hot enough to get _your_ dick wet, she must be something."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't. What does she look like?" the red-head pressed.

"We're not talking about this," Clint said.

"Fine." Natasha shrugged, and Clint thought she dropped it. She stood up and placed her empty mug on the counter where Steve would wash it up – the weirdo preferred drying the dishes himself – and moved around the table to where Clint was sat.

Before Clint could even think, she snatched his phone from the armchair and briskly walked away.

"Wha- no!" Clint practically yelled and stumbled over his feet to chase after her. Unfortunately for him, she had a head start and had already unlocked his phone. "What do you think you're doing? _Natalia Romanova-!"_

"It doesn't scare me when you call me that, Clinton!" Natasha called back.

She abruptly spun around, leaving Clint to almost crash right into her, and she pressed the phone against his ear.

"Tasha-!"

"_Hello?_"

Aw, crap.

"_Who is this?"_

Natasha slapped the phone against his ear with a _what-the-hell-do-you-think-you're-doing?_ look. He grabbed the phone from her hand and signed a bunch of one-handed curses her way, which she responded with a cocky smirk.

_"If this is some dumbass kid prank-calling me, I swear I'll find you and—"_

"Really? Threatening minors now?"

Crap.

Why the hell did he start off like that?!

"It's, uh, Clint," he elaborated with a wince.

_"Clint? Bar Clint? Clint from the bar?"_

"I… didn't think Clint was a very common name."

"_Not in the 40s anymore, old man_." Ros chuckled, easing up a little. "_How'd you get my number? Is this another part of your weird job? Stalking people?"_

"Josie actually texted it to me- texted me it," Clint explained, feeling the start of a blush creeping up his cheek. He glared at Natasha who watched his fumbling bemusedly. "Um, she said, well, told me that I, uh, should ask you out." Technically true, but Josie used more colourful language. "So… I was wondering if you. Were maybe free. Tonight?"

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line. "_You're asking me out on a date?_" she asked. He couldn't decipher her tone.

"…Yes?" he decided.

"_Then ask me out properly, big guy_." Now Clint knew she was teasing. He could almost hear the grin in her voice. "_I know I'm the most attractive person you've ever seen, but try not to fumble through your words this time_."

Had Natasha already spoken to her? Were they teaming up against him behind his back?

Clint inhaled through his nose and exhaled slowly through his mouth. Don't fuck it up, Barton.

"Will you go on a date with me, Ros?"

"_Depends. You up for a drive-in theatre? Was gonna go tonight, watch Donnie Darko. Drive-ins are kinda my thing._" There was a moment's hesitation. "_I mean, I know it's not a good first date_." She chuckled. "_Ignore my ass. Dinner sounds—_"

"No!" Clint blurted, sending Ros into silence. "I mean, um," he cleared his throat, "a drive-in sounds nice. I'd like that. Better than a dinner. It isn't basic- not that there's anything wrong with dinners, but—"

"_Dude_." Ros was laughing now. It was a nice sound, soft and light, unlike almost everything else about her. "_A drive-in it is, then_."

* * *

_**Author's Note: Just for context's sake, people like Victor Von Doom, Logan, Wade, Riri, Lunella, Laura and other characters that are on Rosa's side are non-powered. They won't be and aren't gonna be part of the Avengers or anything, at least not for now, so Wade and Logan don't have super-strength or anything.**_

_**I'm very much basing this off Matt Fraction's Clint because he's the love of my life. Which means we might see Lucky the Pizza Dog or Kate at ome point in the future...**_

_**Also, wasn't expecting reviews on a Clint Barton x OC fic after the first chapter since it's one of the rarest pairings, and it's so nice to see them! **_

_**Hope you enjoyed this chapter!**_


End file.
